


The Drive

by Ten8cinator



Series: Pale Black [1]
Category: Homestuck, The Midnight Crew - Fandom
Genre: Good Lord, M/M, One Shot, Prompt Fic, as many mc fics are, drivin, droog is incredibly thirsty, droog's also kind of creepy, gas stations, generous descriptions of facial features, scamming of poor struggling college students, set at ungodly hours of the morning, slick is a dick, who are also thirsty, window watching, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:19:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4866266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ten8cinator/pseuds/Ten8cinator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He’s seen him making the moves on girls before, but it’s different this time. Then, that might have to do with the fact that he’s seeing him from a distance...furthermore, he’s outside, observing the scene through a window. That could definitely be a deciding factor."</p><p>Slick and Droog take a drive. With no destination in mind, it's quiet, almost peaceful- but it's not long before they run out of gas and Slick tries to sweet-talk a cashier into lowering the bill. Droog observes his attempts and becomes rather... uncomfortable.</p><p>A prompt fill for a friend. Implicative Slick/Droog, kind of one-sided, but that's only because certain people are being spied on and don't have any input...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drive

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic on here. Nervous levels at a steadily increasing high, but I hope you like it nonetheless.  
> Expect a lot of Slick/Droog in the future -w-

_"Whaddaya say we take a drive tonight?"_

It wasn't a question so much as a politely phrased order, but for Slick, it's as good as geniality can get. Droog found himself pondering the hidden implications that this sentence entailed, even as they seated themselves in the 'getaway vehicle' (not a very catchy name; Droog still has no idea how the term was coined) and sped off into the darkness at Slick's reckless mercy. _He's obviously botched a job and needs me to do the dirty work. Toss the body and the like._ Judging by Slick's mood, as erratic as it may be, that's not the case- it's unlike his leader to ask anyone for help anyhow if it's not grumbled from the other end of a prison payphone. And they've gone down that road before; one that Droog- and his wallet- would hate to revisit. _He's paying up for his countless offences against me on a daily basis._ Again, unlikely. He doesn't think Slick actually knows how much of a horrible person he is without it being shoved in his face.

"A drive" turns out to be a quiet little loop around the city limits, save for Slick's habitual chatter about everything and nothing, and admittedly, it's rather pleasant- until they've hit ungodly-hour-of-the-morning one and the fuel gauge starts to blink. Slick taps the glass a few times with the small, irrational hope that there's some mistake, and when he swears Droog sighs through his nostrils, stony-faced as ever. As if he should've expected anything less.

"Fuckin'... 'Kay, there's a gas station around here somewhere," Slick mutters, squinting through the headlights as if this will help him locate a revolving neon spike some fifty yards away. _Eloquent_ , Droog thinks, and he knows if he'd said that aloud he'd get an earful. But it turns out that Slick is right after all; after making a risky turn onto the highway, they arrive at a nondescript rest stop about five minutes later where countless trucks form a line of taken parking spaces and a paradise of cholesterol-inducing fecal matter is advertized in bold, glowing letters over the main building. Slick grins at the sight of a vacant station that eluded his sight while on the road, tucked away in the back of the plaza, seemingly forgotten; Droog quickly deduces why. The place is battered, unkempt, seemingly on the verge of collapse but looking as ancient and unmovable as when the city was first built. A second of doubt brushes past him as there's evidence of it being operable: a solitary worker at the register of the convenience store.

The car rattles up to a pump with seconds to spare. Slick kills the engine and, glancing up once at Droog, digs around the middle compartment for some cash. "'M going in to pay. Damn thing don't take credit cards." Droog doesn't argue about the dangers of leaving their recent heist haul in the vehicle they used to steal it with when Slick pulls out a crisp one hundred. He just nods, knowing that he's the one going to be standing out there with the nozzle. They disembark, Droog looping towards the driver's side to fill up the tank. Slick stops halfway from the glass doors, turning on his heel.

"Want anything?"

It's so conversational that it catches Droog off guard. The canopy lights of the station are blinding, so it's difficult to make Slick out from the darkness, but from what Droog can hear it's a genuine offer. "...Just water, if you don't mind," he replies, and Slick turns away and enters the store.

There's nothing exciting about the process of refilling an empty fuel tank whatsoever, and like anyone forced to do something mind-numbingly tedious, Droog's mind wanders. He looks over the vehicle he's currently stationed beside, noting that it could do with a wash. There's a very good chance that he's going to be the one to do so. His eyes flicker over the convenience store, and the thought is mutual. He can see Slick rummaging through the cooler- _Is he really trying that hard to find a good brand of water in this shithole_ \- looking even smaller than he usually does. Apparently satisfied, his leader carries his purchases up to the register where the cashier is suddenly quite interested in her customer now that he's up close. Droog can see her a bit more clearly now; young, conventionally attractive, probably bound there by college tuition costs. Or maybe it's a family-owned business. Whatever the case, she's definitely paying more attention to the man on the other side of the counter than what she's bagging. And Slick is generously taking advantage of that.

Throughout his years of morally questionable gang activity, he's come to find that females are more attracted to older, refined gentlemen; the cashier doesn't seem to catch on that Slick is the antonym of both these terms, but hey, maybe his valiant leader gets bonus points for actually managing a _tie_ today.

Which, Droog remembers distastefully, he'd adjusted multiple times at the expense of robotic arm-swatting.

He’s seen him making the moves on girls before, but it’s different this time. Then, that might have to do with the fact that he’s seeing him from a distance...furthermore, he’s outside, observing the scene through a window. That could definitely be a deciding factor.

No, this time, Slick is putting on a consideraby better act of shielding his true personality- or at least it appears so, unless this girl is attracted to foul-mouthed idiocy. Her smile is that of mirror-practiced perfection, and even through the streaks of the glass and the space between them, Droog picks up on a few tidbits: the way she straightens, showing off her considerable rack in full-view, one hand placed against the counter for support while the other twists a dirty blonde curl in an attempt to appear nonchalant. It's so obviously a ruse, a ruse that Slick slots himself into perfectly as their inchoerent conversation appears more than casual. Slick leans forward slightly, crosses his arms. She takes her time punching in the numbers on the register, absorbing every word he says through thick lashes. He shrugs noncommittally, a lazy smile on his face. Droog turns back to the nozzle, rolling his eyes.

The muffled noise reaches a high note and Droog quirks an eyebrow, his momentarily half-mast attention brought back to the window. He's going to scold himself later out of sheer disgust for being invested, but he's far too preoccupied with what his senses have to offer, so much so that he almost ignores the pit that's formed in his stomach; and it's not because of her high, fruity giggling that this sensation occurs, on no, it's the fact that Slick is laughing _too_. Whatever trick this is, it's clearly so brilliant that Slick ought to have a laugh. And Droog fervently reminds himself that this is, indeed, still just a bargaining ploy as that low, husky chuckle rises ever so slightly above the cashier's. That dragged-through-gravel, verging on breathy sound that draws her eyes up towards his face- and _there, he's nabbed her,_ the corner of his lopsided smirk upturns by a millimeter, subtly revealing the sharp teeth that barely graze his lower lip. _Serves her right. She doesn't know where to look now._ He sees her darting irises, flitting from Slick's mouth, to his jaw, which she could've sworn had moved but now that she looks at it closely she's not so sure of anything anymore, prompting her to avert her gaze downwards, which she quickly realizes creates a worse situation and, with slight apprehensive curiosity, to his eyes, which hold an overpowering promise of mischievous ill-will that sets her imagination on overdrive. And in a span of three seconds, he's completely stolen whatever she was about to say; he takes his bag from her limp hands, says something akin to a thank you, and leaves, sporting the most obnoxiously pleased grin as he does so. The cashier looks lost, glancing at the door, then back out to the empty aisles, and heaves a long, disheartened sigh.

Droog rejoins Slick in the car, who's already started opening whatever bar of pure sugar he could get his hands on and chomping into it with self-indulgent glee. "Four dollars for a fuckin' water bottle. Can you believe that? _Four fuckin' dollars_! Practically highway robbery!" He doesn't sound angry though, as he hands Droog the bottle. "Probably fuckin' raised the prices to fix that dingy place up, yeah?" He chuckles to himself. Droog doesn't respond.

"Got that shit for _free._ Didn't have to pay a cent. _And,"_ he starts, gloatingly, _"I dropped the gas price down to twenty five._ Fuckin' scammed that bitch down to bare bones." As Slick starts up the car again, mood rejuvenated, Droog is silent. He stares down at the water clutched in his hands, throat tight.

 _Might need this more than I thought I did,_ he thinks, gulping down half of the liquid before they can even leave the parking lot.


End file.
